Accompaniment: Turk First
by drakonlily
Summary: Tseng's first kill, only the one helping him, is someone not expected. Rated R for the creative use of a car wash. Part of the FFaC stories. [one shot]


Turk First

At first glance, it was two men walking a third home from the bar. First glance would be very confused as to why the seemingly drunken man was then secured to the front seat of a plush red convertible, the top already down. First glance would have run screaming if it heard what was being said.

"You know, this is a shame." The older man responded in a smooth tenor. His hazel eyes cast a mako glow around dark eyebrows, lighting up slightly long lashes in the cloud covered night.

The man in the car spit onto the steering-wheel. Both men watched as a tooth slid along the leather, pulling a black line in the bloody liquid before gravity took charge and it slipped to the ground. "_Turk_." He snorted as though the word was a curse.

"Look, Richy, why not just tell me who you were going to sell those files to? I can make this quick." His hand rubbed against a short goatee in thought. He turned his back to the person called "Richy" and lit a cigarette. "Not like we aren't going to find him anyway."

"Fuck yo-ahhhh!" The man yelped as a still lit zippo landed in his lap. Twisting in the seat, he screamed again, trying to smother the flame with his thigh and only causing fluid to leak. All the while the hazel eyed man leaned against the windshield of the convertible, calmly smoking.

Those eyes rolled. "Tseng?" He held out his hand, motioning to the back seat of the car. "Please hand me that bottle of water?"

The second man- a young Wutain- nodded, reaching over the passenger side and tossing the half full bottle to his superior. He had been silent, watching in the manner of a student on his first field test.

Richy sighed as he was doused in the water.

Capping the bottle, the hazel eyed man leaned forward. "Now, could you please stop being stupid?"

Richy's breathing hitched, tears ran unchecked down his face.

The empty bottle made a "tonk" sound as the hazel eyed man snapped it against Richy's head. "Fine, be that way." He nodded to the boy called Tseng. After throwing the car in neutral, the two pushed it to the opening of the car wash. Again, the hazel eyed man leaned against the driver's door. "Last chance." At no response, he sighed. Reaching over he pushed a button.

The car began to move, Richy's face was a mask of confusion. That was, until the water came on. Two thousand PSI hit him in the face, scalding the moment it hit his flesh. The brush, that would have hit his window, raked up his face at sixty revolutions per minute. His screams almost lost in the whirl of machinery were at last silenced as hot wax flowed in a perfect arch of sun yellow down his throat.

The steam curled around their ankles. The hazel eyed man flipped the butt of his death penalty to his young companion. Tseng took the weapon and hefted it, looking down the sites. "You sure you want me to do this?"

The other man nodded, lazily walking around to the other end of the carwash. "This makes the first time easier." The two Turks waited as the car slid out to them, Richy twisting in the seat, his skin was red, blistered, held together with slowly hardening wax. The left side of his face met the right looking like a yellow and red child's ball. The yellow side of his face steamed into the air. Richy's head twisted, but his eyes were no longer useful, one scratched out, and the other, flooded with yellow wax.

Tseng's lip curled up in disgust, he wasted no time pulling the trigger.

"See, it's much easier when you kill the first one doing him a favor." The older man placed another cigarette in his mouth.

Tseng looked at the gun, letting out a humorless smirk. "I suppose so."

His superior growled, patting his pockets. "Ah, shit. Can you snag my lighter kid?"

Tseng rolled his eyes, but trotted up to the car, picking the item up from in between Richy's legs. The lemon fresh sent was somehow nauseating. He started back with the lighter, first dipping it into a puddle, shaking the blood off. The letters "E. R" loomed back at him. "Sir?"

The hazel eyed man raised an eyebrow, accepting the lighter back.

"What do the letters E. R. stand for?"

Using a match to light his next cigarette, the hazel eyed man laughed. "Emmerson, Reeve."

* * *

dedicated to my E-siblings, and anyone who likes my more... intersting work.


End file.
